


In the Car

by mistyzeo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a thing for his car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Car

**Author's Note:**

> art at the end by [crimson adder](http://crimson-adder.livejournal.com) (NSFW)
> 
> [Download the audio version here](http://audiofic.jinjurly.com/in-car), recorded by [crimson adder](http://crimson-adder.livejournal.com). =D And if you want the PodBook version, complete with cover art, head [over here](http://www.sendspace.com/file/ezybzz), thanks to [cybel](http://cybel.livejournal.com)

Dean had a thing for his car. Okay, sure, he loved the thing, that much was obvious, but what wasn't as obvious was that he really had a _thing_ for the _car_. He called it 'sweetheart' and 'baby' and 'darling,' which was what anyone might call their car, but he seemed to think the car fit somewhere into the relationship Dean had with Sam.

Dean never chose the car over Sam. Never. Sammy was always first and foremost in Dean's mind. Things had gone south with a werewolf up in Vermont, and the werewolf had scratched Sam up real bad. Sam was on the ground, covered in blood, and couldn't walk, even though Dean knew he didn't want to be a burden. Dean had thrown their shit in the trunk and then gone back and grabbed Sam before the werewolf had returned. Dean lifted Sam off the ground, not supporting him so much as actually carrying him, murmuring, "It'll be okay, Sammy, don't worry, I gotcha."

Dean hefted Sam into the backseat of the Impala and driven off so fast Sam had to grab the seat back to stay in one place. There was blood everywhere, all over his hip and leg, all over his clothes, all over Dean, and all over the car. Sam felt guilty, through the pain, that he was getting Dean's car all bloody.

"Dean," he said, "your car…."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean snapped, and accelerated. "I'll get you patched up, okay?"

When they got back to the motel, Dean carried Sam into the room—Sam was a little too woozy to figure out exactly how he'd managed it—and laid him on the bed. He went out again and came back carrying their gear and first aid kit, all four bags tight in his fists, and dumped them on the floor.

He helped Sam pull off his shirt, and cut off his jeans, starting at the ankle. The scratches ran from just below the tender part of Sam's belly down to his left knee. His right leg was intact, but Sam tried to move it and winced. Dean put ice on Sam's right knee and told him to hold it there.

Dean wouldn't give Sam anything for the pain until he'd finished sewing, not wanting to thin his blood and make him bleed out. That was pretty standard. He cleaned Sam up, burning alcohol and cool rags. His stitches were neat and small, exactly like they always were. He sewed up the four long gashes while Sam bit his own wrist to keep from making too much noise, and Dean only took a moment to compare the motion to the same Sam made while he was getting fucked. He smiled, but continued his careful work.

Finally he finished sewing and bandaging, and bound up Sam's right knee as well, wrapping the ice between two layers of bandage to keep it from getting too cold. He gave Sam two asprin and told him to sleep. Sam fell asleep listening to Dean cleaning blood from their shirts in the shower.

When he woke up in the morning, still naked, but covered gently with the clean sheet, Dean was gone. Sam sat up, careful of his legs, and noticed that Dean must have slept in the other bed. His jacket was hanging over the chair by the door, but his shoes and keys were missing.

Sam picked up the cell by his head and called Dean's phone. He heard it ringing just outside the door, and Dean picked up.

"Morning sunshine," Dean said, and Sam could hear music from the car stereo playing.

"Hey," he said. "Are you outside?"

"Yeah," Dean said, and the music lowered in volume. "How you feeling?"

"Okay," Sam said, checking the bandages. "Kinda hungry."

"Hold on." Dean hung up, and then he was unlocking the motel door. Sam blinked up at him in the morning sun. "Hey baby."

"Hi," Sam said. "Think I could get up?"

Dean shrugged, crossing the room and throwing a rag into the sink. "Probably could. Be careful."

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood carefully. His whole side ached; besides the scratches he could see the dark purple of new bruises on his ribs and legs. His right knee was tender, but probably okay.

"You look like you got hit by a truck with teeth," Dean said, coming up and placing a hand on his back.

"Can I have my pants?"

Wearing pants, Sam leaned against the doorjamb of the motel room and watched Dean. The white bandages showed above his waistband, and he thought about a shirt, but the sun was warm, even for Vermont, and he liked the way Dean's eyes slid over him every so often.

Dean was cleaning the car. He was carefully and meticulously washing the leather seats of Sam's blood, and scrubbing blood out of the foot well. He was wiping blood off the backs of the seats in front, and anywhere else Sam had bled. He cleaned the steering wheel, where his hands, covered in Sam's blood, had touched. He even cleaned the face of the radio player, and all of the controls—the windshield wipers, the headlights, the turn signals. He didn't blame Sam for a second, and Sam could tell that, but he was whispering to the car as he wiped leather cleaner over her seats, apologizing and telling her he only did it because he knew she was a reliable girl.

Then he closed the doors gently, locked the car, and pushed Sam back into the room. He sucked Sam's dick eagerly, careful of his stitches, and Sam could smell the leather sealant on his hands.

It was either a motel room or the car for them, both in their everyday lives, and when they fucked. The room was usual, because they had the privacy, and no one asked questions, and because that's where they lived—in one motel room after another.

But Sam knew the car got Dean really worked up, and sometimes he liked to bring the car into the equation, just to watch Dean squirm.

Like the time they were driving from West Virginia to St Louis, and they'd been on the road too long. What had started out as a stupid little prank fight had turned into a fight-not-fight that involved touching each other provocatively and trying to keep a straight face.

Sam was driving. Fortunately, the road was pretty empty, and he could allow his attention to wander for a second or two. Not, he told himself, that he was going to allow Dean to get him to do that.

Dean's fingers snuck across the back of his neck, stopping to stroke gently just under his ear. His fingers were rough, and Sam stole a look at Dean. Dean was staring straight ahead of them, casual, leaning away from Sam, his right hand resting on his knee, his legs slightly spread to accommodate the amazingly obvious erection Sam had given him.

Sam suppressed a shiver, trying not to think of Dean's tongue where his thumb was. It didn't work, and Dean pulled his hand away, grinning. Sam sighed.

A few minutes later, his own hand slid across the seat space between them, sneaking into Dean's front pocket. He wiggled his fingers to get deeper into the pocket, and could feel the ridge of Dean's cock in his pants, across the layers of cotton pocket and cotton boxers. Dean hissed, and Sam removed his hand.

A few miles after that, Dean was dragging his pinky up the outside of Sam's leg. Sam took a hand off the wheel and placed Dean's hand on the seat, palm down. His hand covered Dean's, and he heard Dean's intake of breath. He squeezed, pressing Dean's palm down into the leather, curling his fingers, curling Dean's fingers in the seat. The leather was hot—the sun warmed it, despite the air conditioning—and Dean's palm was sweating. His hand stuck to the seat for a second when Sam let him go, and Dean's eyes were wide when he looked over at him, a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Pull over." Dean's voice was low.

"What?" It was late afternoon, but there were hours until dark, and Sam was a little nervous about just pulling over on the side of the road.

"Right there." Dean pointed. "Pull over, Sam."

Sam put on his blinker, the road empty, and braked. The car rolled to a stop in the gravel of the wide shoulder, and Sam put it in park. Dean reached across him and turned the car off, the rumbling purr going quiet, and then grabbed Sam and pulled him into his lap. Sam scrambled and banged his forehead on the window, but Dean slid both hands into his hair, murmuring an apology and kissing him fiercely. They were lined up, pelvis to pelvis, and Dean's erection was hard and hot against Sam's.

Dean kicked off his shoes and Sam pulled his jacket off and threw it across the seat. Dean pushed up Sam's sleeves, fingers digging into his forearms, and Sam loomed over him, kissing him wet and dirty.

Sam pulled away, and disengaged his hips from Dean's, groaning at the loss. Dean fumbled to undo his pants, and Sam yanked them down, freeing his cock. He slid down Dean's body and grabbed Dean's hands. He pressed Dean's left hand into the top of the seat, and Dean held onto the back, and his right hand into the door. The door handle dug into Dean's palm, cold metal. At the same time, he licked the head of Dean's cock, and then swallowed him.

Dean yelled, bucking up, and Sam held his hands in place on the car. Dean moaned and squirmed, and Sam sucked him fast, messy.

Dean started swearing, and Sam pulled off. Dean's hands under his jerked, wanting to push Sam back down, but Sam looked him in the eye.

"C'mon, get in the back," Sam said, and let go to climb over the seat back.

"Fuck," Dean moaned, and climbed after him, shucking his pants so they hung on one ankle. Sam unzipped his jeans and pulled his dick out, huge and hot and leaking in his palm. He couldn't resist a few strokes up its length, to take the edge off, and Dean pushed his way into Sam's lap, mouth open to kiss him again.

Sam kissed him, and then pushed him away, into the back of the front seat. His palm was huge on Dean's chest, and Dean dropped his head back. His hands found Sam's shirt, fisting in it, and Sam pulled lube out of Dean's shirt pocket.

"You planned this," he accused, holding Dean in place, and at the same time squeezing lube messily over his left hand. "You wanted me to fuck you in the car." He pressed a kiss to Dean's collarbone and pressed two slick fingers into Dean without so much as a by-your-leave. "You like getting fucked in the car," he continued. "You'd probably _fuck_ this car if you had the chance." Dean groaned, laughing, and ruffled Sam's hair.

"Sammy," he replied, breathless, "you know me too well. If these seats could talk, baby."

Sam twisted his fingers inside Dean's ass, and Dean jumped. A third finger, and Dean was leaning into him, rocking against Sam, shaking his head back and forth, the leather seat seams pressing into his back.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam said, and pulled his fingers out. Dean's head snapped up, and he looked at Sam, shocked for a second, before he grinned and slid close again. Sam shimmied his jeans down his hips a bit, giving himself more room, and before he could stop him, Dean was on his knees on the seat, positioning Sam's dick and sliding himself down.

Sam gasped and Dean looked very self-satisfied as he stilled to let himself adjust. Sam was big, and as much as he wanted to ride Sam until they both came _right now_ , he knew he'd regret it if he didn't wait just one more moment.

Sam's hands curled around his thigh and ass, and Dean took hold of the back of the seat, fingernails scratching the leather. It felt warm, like a woman's skin, under his hand, and he closed his eyes. Sam's breath was short on his cheek, and he lifted his hips experimentally. Dean moaned and pushed down, and then he picked up a rhythm and started fucking himself on Sam's cock. Sam held on tight, head back, biting his lip. The car rocked and squeaked under them. The only sounds were the car's shocks protesting, Sam's harsh breathing, and the slick-wet noise of their joined bodies.

A car zoomed past, and the Impala rocked side-to-side with the force of the wind. Dean laughed, and Sam opened his eyes, surprised. There was sweat running down Sam's temples, and Dean let go of Sam's shirt to wipe it away. Sam moaned and turned his head to bite Dean's thumb. Dean swore.

Sam's hand left Dean's thigh and curled around his cock, still shiny from Sam's mouth and leaking. Sam rubbed his thumb in the pre-come on the tip and squeezed his fingers around the length. Dean's mouth dropped open, and he could almost taste the leather smell in the hot car.

"Come on baby," Sam whispered, and it was in the same voice Dean used to talk to the car sometimes. He realized this, and Sam grinned at him. "Come on, sweetheart, come for me."

Dean couldn't resist, and he leaned forwards to capture Sam's mouth, feeling the hot tension in his groin coalesce. He moaned into Sam's mouth, and he was coming over Sam's hand, hot and pulsing, sticky, all over Sam's t-shirt.

Sam groaned, fisting his cock, until Dean relaxed into his arms, panting. Sam let go and then both hands were on Dean's ass, pushing hard into him, over and over. Then he was coming too, with an "Oh, god!" Dean pressed kisses to Sam's throat as Sam gasped and moaned, feeling him tremble in the orgasm.

Finally Sam let go, a puddle of contentment. They were both covered in sweat. Dean wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Oh, Dean, my shirt," Sam said, pushing Dean back.

"Sorry princess," Dean replied, and climbed off his lap. "Better you than the car."

Sam laughed and reached out to push Dean's head back against the window. "You're an asshole."

Dean batted his hands away and grabbed his wrists. They struggled for a moment. "Just because I like her better than you," Dean said, "doesn't mean you need to get all jealous."

Sam opened the door and slid out. He wiped his hands on his shirt and buttoned his jeans and buckled his belt. Inside the car, Dean rescued his pants from around his ankle and put them back on. Sam walked around the car, but Dean climbed into the passenger seat and slid across, blocking Sam's entrance.

"I'm driving now," he said through the closed window, shoving his feet into his boots. "You swerve too much."

"Fuck you," Sam said, giving him the finger and walking around again to the other side. He climbed in and took off his shirt, and then his t-shirt. He threw the t-shirt into the back seat and pulled the long-sleeved shirt back on. "You're disgusting."

Dean laughed and turned the key. The car roared to life, and Dean turned on the tape player. "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner blasted through the stereo, and Sam snorted.

"Do you plan that shit?"

"Nope," Dean said, looking smug, and pulled back onto the interstate.

Sometimes, Sam thought, shaking his head and smiling, he didn't mind if the car got involved.

 

____spacer____


End file.
